How To Quit Smoking in Seven Days
by Lynn Heartnet
Summary: Seven siblings, all of them dropping like flies. Who's murdering them and why? Only Sherlock Holmes can figure it out. Oh, and did I mention that Sherlock has a week to quit smoking or else John won't even think about dating him?
1. Chapter 1

"Sherlock, I told you no smoking in the flat! I don't want another singed carpet!" John growled as he walked through the door, laden in groceries.

Sherlock ignored him, continuing to puff away at his cigarette. The detective was laying stretched out on the couch, his skull sitting comfortably on his stomach. He appeared to be engaged in a staring contest with the skull's empty sockets, which clearly made him too busy to help John with groceries.

"Sherlock. Put it out or go out on the fire escape. These are your choices. Don't make me ask twice." John scolded, dumping the grocery bags on the counter and fixing the detective with a glare. Sherlock groaned and complained around a mouthful of cigarette. Still, he complied, lifting the skull off his stomach and carrying it with him to the window so the pair could clamber out onto the fire escape together.

John shook his head and sighed. Every since they'd taken the case in Bristol, when John had taken his eyes off Sherlock for exactly five minutes to flirt with a rather lovely women he'd met, the detective had taken up his old smoking habit again. Apparently in those brief five minutes Sherlock had managed to procure a considerable amount of cigarettes.

John slid the gallon of milk into the fridge, trying to avoid the plastic bag filled with hands. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sherlock peering over the edge of the fire escape, skull in hand. John chuckled, imagining the pedestrians below looking up and coming face to face with a human skull. Sherlock would look like a ghost of course, pale and dark eyed. He was going to give someone a fright perching up there.

Suddenly his thoughts were disrupted by Sherlock flinging the window open again and barging back into the flat.

"We have a case!" He announced loudly, tossing his skull to the couch and pressing the cigarette into the ashtray he'd stolen from Buckingham palace.

"Who gave it to us, Yorick?" John asked, gesturing to the skull.

"Of course not, and that is not his name." Sherlock replied with an air of self importance. "The case is coming from the rather distressed man making his way up the stairs right now."

John turned to the doorway and lo and behold there were the footsteps pounding up the stairs of 221B. John felt the thrill that always came when Sherlock took a case, the thrill that spoke of running down dark alleys and dodging bullets. His kind of day.

Sherlock ran to the door and opened it just in time for a young and anxious looking man to come barreling through. He paused for a moment, confused by the door being opened before he'd even knocked. Then he turned to face the two men awaiting his story.

"Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?" He asked, his voice shrill with panic.,

"That would be him." John jerked a thumb at the detective who was already grasping their new client by the shoulders.

"Tell me." He demanded, his eyes shining.

"My name is George Tracey." The man stuttered. "And I want you to find the person that's been trying to kill me."

* * *

**Hello dear readers, if you are here then I am assuming you are one of the kind people currently reading my Stories From Baker Street series, if not then you should probably read it ;)**

**Don't worry, starting a new story does not mean the updates for Stories or One More Miracle will be delayed (any more than they already have what with life and all) I just thought I'd try my hand at a real mystery story. With any luck this won't be completely awful, please review and tell me what you think. Enjoy!**


	2. Chapter 2

"Tell me everything." Sherlock demanded, guiding George Tracey into a chair although to John it looked more like pushing him into a chair. Sherlock flopped into the chair opposite and leaned forward with excitement.

"Well..." George looked sad and terrified. "It all started about two weeks ago when my older brother was murdered. God we barely just got him in the ground...it was so horrific."

"There was something odd about the body, yes?" Sherlock prompted. George looked up in amazement, his eyes red from nights spent sobbing.

"Yes, but I can't just talk about that now. You have to know about the..."

"Of course I have to know about it. This is important, what was wrong with the body?" Sherlock snapped. John gave him a warning look and George sat stunned before talking again.

"It was his thumbs. They'd been cut off."

"Oh lovely!" Sherlock exclaimed, leaping from the chair and beginning to pace. John was really glaring at him now. "Continue. Why is your life in danger. The same person is coming after you?"

"Well yes and no...you see...he attacked my sister and me while we were out today..."

"You have a lot of siblings." Sherlock stated rather than asked and George nearly laughed.

"You don't need to be a detective to know that. We're the Tracey family. We were in all the papers back when child number seven was born."

"Seven children?" John spluttered, and this time Sherlock was the one that sent his partner the angry look.

"Yes." George replied. "Me, Elizabeth, Miranda, Johnathon, Jack, Terry and then we used to have Kevin... he was the oldest of us."

"And he was murdered, his thumbs carved off." Sherlock spoke as if the murder of an innocent man were a birthday present.

"Yes. Then earlier today my sister and I were out with some friends. She went off to the bathroom and when she didn't come back one of our friends went to go look for her. We heard a lot of screaming and a man wearing a black mask came running out of the bathroom. He looked right at me." George shuddered. "It turns out my sister was nearly strangled to death, we just barely saved her."

The corner of Sherlock's mouth turned up into a half smile. "I'll take the case."

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes." A weight vanished from George's shoulders and he slumped forward in his chair with relief.

"I'll need to investigate your home and I'll need to speak with all your siblings. Can you arrange this?" Sherlock asked, his pacing growing more excited.

"Yes, yes. I can have them all at the house later today. Five maybe?"

"John, give him your number. You can text John the details just work it all out. I'll be waiting." Sherlock demanded. John rolled his eyes, used to being ordered about, and complied.

**Day 1**

Waiting for word from George Tracey was insufferable for both Sherlock and John. It was awful for Sherlock because he was bored and anxious to start working and it was awful for John because he had to deal with him. So when the text finally came both men were eager to get out of the flat.

George lived in something that might be considered a mansion, big and lavish enough to look like a mansion but compact enough to fit in the city. A butler answered the door and led Sherlock and John into a living room where they waited for George Tracey.

His family was clearly well off, they had maids and servants everywhere John cared to look...and honestly he didn't. He found himself a little disgusted with all the extravagance, there was something just decidedly wrong about it. However he stopped his glaring just as soon as Miranda walked into the room.

His jaw dropped as the drop dead gorgeous brunette walked into the room on long legs. She lingered for a bit before opening sensuous lips to speak.

"You're George's private eye, right?" She purred.

"Yes. I mean I'm not, he is. Hi, I'm John Watson and this is Sherlock Holmes." John stuttered, speaking just a little too fast and standing quickly to offer her his hand. She shook it, looking past John to Sherlock.

"My brother and the rest of the crew are in the den. I'll take you to them."

She walked out and Sherlock and John followed.

"I wouldn't go there." Sherlock murmured just low enough for John to hear.

"Go where?"

"With her." He said her as if it was an offensive word, and he was boring holes into the back of Miranda's head with glaring eyes.

"Why not?" John hissed back, a little annoyed that Sherlock would pick this time to get in the way of his dating life.

"Trust me. She's not your type. I'll spare you the details." Sherlock replied. John rolled his eyes as they followed Miranda down a flight of stairs. Suddenly Sherlock stopped, pulling on John's wrist to signal he do the same.

"Go to dinner with me instead." He said in a low rumble.

"What?" John was shocked, but his first reaction was a laugh. Sherlock furrowed his brow at the laugh, clearly offended.

"I said go to dinner with me."

"Is now really the best time for that? Also, no."

"Why not?"

"Well for one," John began with a sigh. "We can't go to dinner because I'm the only one that eats and it's irritating having you hover over me watching me at. Two, I don't kiss people that taste like ash trays."

"So what you're saying is if I quit smoking you'll go to dinner with me?" Sherlock's eyes lit up with a challenge.

"Are you boys coming?" Miranda interjected and the two began walking again.

"I'm not promising anything." John whispered.

"So you say." Sherlock replied, but before John could make a cutting retort they were in the den facing all six of this case's cast. It was time to solve a murder.


End file.
